


'soft'

by nymeriahale



Series: prompt fills [33]
Category: Rugby RPF, Rugby Union RPF
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:13:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28385310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nymeriahale/pseuds/nymeriahale
Summary: “Georgie, it’ssnowing!”“So?”Owen splutters. “So? So let’s go out and play in it, come on! Come on, before someone else gets to it first!”George groans, pushing his face deeper into the pillows. “No.”
Relationships: Owen Farrell/George Ford
Series: prompt fills [33]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/396019
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	'soft'

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt 'soft', though I think you can tell that I got distracted by this morning's snow!
> 
> This is a work of fiction and as such nothing is to be considered implied or insinuated about real life rugby players.

“Georgie! Georgie!”

George rouses to vigorous shaking. “What?” he asks, rolling away from Owen into the pillows. “What d’you want?”

“Georgie, it’s _snowing_!”

George grunts. “So?”

Owen splutters. “So? So let’s go out and play in it, come on! Come on, before someone else gets to it first!”

George groans, pushing his face deeper into the pillows. “No,” he says.

George doesn’t understand how Owen is so alert - he’d stayed up as late as George, and drank just as much. How can he choose the bright white cold of outside over the embrace of their bed?

“Georgie!” Owen pounces on George, straddling him. “Come on George, it didn’t snow at all last year!”

“And I had to play in it the year before that,” George turns his head sideways so Owen can actually understand him. “It was horrible.”

Owen snorts. “You don’t hate snow, Georgie. I know you don’t.”

George huffs. “You said it’s still snowing?”

“Yep!” 

“Then it’ll be there later, no need to get up now.”

Owen sighs, slumping forwards and blanketing George in warmth.

George hums in contentment - this is more like it.

“But it’s _pretty_ ,” Owen coaxes.

“You’re pretty.”

Owen snorts. “That’s sweet of you, but I’m not going to get distracted. Come on, sit up, have a look.”

Owen sits, warmth and weight shifting, and pulls at George’s shoulders.

George huffs. “Alright, alright!”

“Yes!”

Owen climbs off George, walking back to the window. 

George allows himself one long sigh before twisting to sit up, wincing as Owen opens the curtains and the room is flooded with light. “Very nice,” he says insincerely.

“Come see properly,” Owen beckons.

George goes, having run out of fight. He shivers as he leaves the warmth of their duvet, grateful when Owen pulls him close, wrapping an arm around his waist as George joins him at the window.

George peeks out through half closed eyes. “Very pretty,” he accepts.

It is, too, large flakes of snow floating gently to the ground, the fields and hedges coated in an unbroken layer of white. It’s just also very bright.

“Don’t you want to play in it?” Owen coaxes.

George whines, dropping his head to Owen’s shoulder. “Owen!”

“You really don’t?” Owen’s voice turns soft as he brings a hand up to smooth through the hairs at the nape of George’s neck.

“It’ll be there later,” George repeats. “And it’s so _bright_ ,” he tucks his face into Owen’s neck, sealing out the light.

Owen makes a noise of realisation. “You could’ve said you’re hungover.”

“‘M not,” George protests, pulling away and blinking up at Owen. 

“Hm,” Owen raises an eyebrow. “That’d be more convincing if you could open your eyes all the way, you know?”

George heaves a sigh. “Yeah, that’s not gonna happen.”

Owen laughs. “Go on, you, back to bed,” he taps George on the butt to get him moving. “I’ll bring you some painkillers.”

“You’re an angel,” George says fervently, burrowing back under the covers.

Owen returns after barely a minute, laying a hand on George’s shoulder. “Here you are.”

George sits to down the painkillers and half the glass of water. “Thank you,” he tells Owen.

Owen waves a dismissive hand, crossing the room to the window as George puts his glass on the bedside table.

“You can leave it open,” George offers. “It is pretty.”

Owen turns with a frown. “It’s hurting you,” he says plainly.

“I’m going under the covers,” George shrugs. “It’s warmer in there anyway.”

Owen doesn’t seem convinced, hand lingering on the curtains.

“You staying with me?” George asks.

Owen raises an eyebrow.

Yeah, that had been a dumb question.

“Well I’m going back to sleep until the painkillers kick in -

“- good -”

“- so give yourself something nice to look at.”

“I can look at you if you don’t hide away under the covers,” Owen teases, smiling as he makes his way back to bed.

“Aren’t you bored of me by now?”

Owen pauses at the side of the bed to lean in and kiss George on the temple. “Never,” he says.

Owen settles sitting back against the headboard, looking out at the soft fall of snow.

George nestles deeper into the pillows, bringing a hand to rest on Owen’s thigh. He tucks his face into Owen’s leg, blocking the worst of the light.

“There we go,” Owen says soothingly, stroking gentle fingers through George’s hair. He tugs up the blanket covering their bed with his other hand, brings it over George’s head.

George exhales, pure relief, as the last of the light dims. “Thank you,” he breathes.

Owen makes a dismissive sound. “Sleep,” he coaxes.

George does.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this Bank Holiday Monday bonus fic! As always I can be found on [twitter](http://twitter.com/nymeriahale) and both my [main](http://nymeriahale.tumblr.com) and [sport](http://fordfarrell.tumblr.com) tumblrs, and would love to hear from you either there or in the comments.


End file.
